d, alas," said Mother Etienne with tears in her
eyes, "but it was my own fault. I ought to have closed down the
lattice and this misfortune would not have happened. It really is
a great pity--such a fine hen. She weighs at least eight pounds.
There, Germaine, take her and weigh her."

Germaine was the maid and also the cousin of Petit-Jacques--of
whom she was very fond. She was a fine buxom girl of eighteen,
strong and well-grown. She loved animals, too, but her feeling for
them could not be compared to Mother Etienne's.

"Germaine, take away poor Yollande, I am quite upset
by this trouble. You will bury her this evening, in a corner of
the kitchen-garden--deep enough to prevent any animal digging her
up. I leave it to you--do it carefully."

The girl bore away the fine hen in her apron. "How heavy she
is--it is a shame," and blowing apart the feathers, she saw the skin
underneath as yellow and plump as you could wish. Mechanically she
plucked a few feathers.

"After all," she said, "it isn't as though she had died--she was
drowned, quite a clean death; she's firm and healthy, only an hour
ago she was as strong and well as could be. Why shouldn't we eat
her?--We'll stew her because, though she is not old, she is not
exactly in her first youth--but there's a lot on her--with a
dressing of carrots and nutmeg, a bunch of herbs and a tomato,
with a calf's foot to make a good jelly, I believe she'd make a
lovely dinner."

Saying this she went on plucking Yollande. All the feathers, large
and small, gone, a little down was left, so to get rid of this she
lit an old newspaper and held her over it.

"Madame won't know anything and will enjoy her as much as we
shall. There's enough on her for two good meals."

Quite decided, instead of burying her, she wrapped the future stew
carefully in a perfectly clean cloth and put it on a shelf in the
kitchen out of the way of flies or accident.

During this time Mother Etienne was busy making as warm a home as
she could for the fifteen little orphans. Poor darlings. In a
wicker-basket she covered a layer of straw with another of wadding
and fine down. Upon this she put the ducklings one by one, and
covered the whole with feathers; then closing the lid, she carried
the basket to the stable where the air was always nice and warm.
All this took time; it was about six o'clock in the evening, the
sun was going down, throwing a last oblique smile into the
kitchen, gleaming here and